Ten Thousand Years will not Suffice

by Agape4Rivendell

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I  II  III  IV  V  VI  VII  VIII  IX  X  XI  XII  XIII  XIV  XV 

9.  Third Age - 2948

Dancing, that is when Amdir fell in love with her, when he saw her dancing in the moonlight in Dol Amroth. He had discovered her as he searched for Thengel – but the quest for Thengel was immediately forgotten in the beauty of this woman before him. And now, now he would dance with her himself, wrap her in his arms, and find joy at the closeness of her. They were to be wed. His mind reeled at the prospect of it, the total unbelievably blessed thought of it. Ecthelion had given his approval. Early spring, when the flowers in the gardens of his mother blossomed and spread their fragrance in the air, that was the time granted for the troth pledge. How could he ever endure the wait? They were no longer able to spend time alone together. Tradition dictated a time of separation, a time of preparation, for love to be tested by distance. If only he could go on patrol somewhere far away from the City, perhaps it would help ease the pain, the tightness in his chest as he contemplated the months apart. But Thengel would not allow it. He was relegated to constant training, schooling and practice. He had twice been cut by blade when his mind had wandered to the thought of her face, her smile, and been reprimanded vehemently by the sword master. Yet no physical pain erased the pain in his heart. He would see her now and again on the City’s streets, walking with Indis or Morwen; she would look the other way following the law of Gondor, causing his heart to tear into tiny bits. This could not be for the good. What kind of tradition would keep two such as they apart for so long?

Denethor, helpless in the face of his friend’s distress, was as morose as he. There was nothing he could do to cheer him, though he had taken him to ‘The Three Fishermen’ on various occasions trying to lift his spirits, take his mind off the woman he loved. Nothing was gained; Amdir was lost in his despair. Finally, Denethor went to Thengel.

‘Please, I ask you as friend, may I take a company or a half company to Rammos Echor or perhaps Cair Andros on the pretense of patrol for Amdir’s sake? We will only be gone for a week, no more, but I cannot abide looking at his visage, wracked with pain as it is.’

Thengel sighed. He did not understand the traditions of Gondor, but was foresworn to uphold them. He was well aware of the suffering of Amdir. He had hoped the training would be enough to take his friend’s mind off his love, but then he smiled to himself. Had training ever given him surcease from thoughts of Morwen when they were separated?

‘You will have orders in the morning,’ he said and was quickly engulfed by a fervent hug from his friend.


Their orders were for two weeks; their destination was to be Cair Andros. Denethor rejoiced at his good fortune. His mind tried to envision an excuse that might take him towards Henneth Annûn. The thought of the men there, waiting for relief, and the anger of his father if he knew he disobeyed his orders, were dismissed as quickly as the thought came. He would not lose this opportunity. Who knew that his needs would be fulfilled at the same time as Amdir’s? A full company was to be at his command. Never before had he been given a full company. When last he had been to Cair Andros he had a full company, but most were left to garrison the island. Now, they would be his. The thrill of command ran through him at this unexpected grace. One week later, the company rode out of the City, with the Steward’s banner flying in the hands of Denethor’s aide, Dúinhir of Blackroot Vale, newly come to Minas Tirith as a recruit. Denethor’s face shone from the thrill of it - his own company, his family’s banner flying, his friend at his side. Could life be any better? The only thorn in this was his decision to contravene his father’s orders. It could not be helped. He had given his word. Hot blood coursed through his veins at the thought of his shame at the breaking of his promise. He would have to be careful; he would have to device a way to meet with Findegon. How would he tell him of the refusal by Ecthelion to relieve them of their post at Henneth Annûn - brave men, left to rot in that cave, when replacements were available. Anger burned him afresh. He could not bring replacements, but he could offer his deepest regrets. There was nothing more he could do.

Amdir, too deeply engrossed in his own thoughts to notice the agitation of his friend, rode in silence. His thoughts, as ever, were upon his beloved. A slight smile creased his eyes as he thought of his use of Thengel’s term for Morwen. Appropriate, wonderful term – beloved. His eyes shone with the memory of her. This march was doing nothing to relieve his need to be near Listöwel, but he knew that Denethor had risked much to take him from the City, to take his mind from the forced separation. He rode closer to him and touched his arm.

‘My friend. I have not thanked you.’

‘For what, Amdir? We are obeying orders, that is all,’ Denethor said with a laugh.

‘Nay, my friend. I know that is not all. You saw my distress and you have used this patrol as a diversion. I know Thengel was against it. I know that you put your friendship with him at risk. I cannot thank you enough.’

‘Amdir, you are friend to Thengel also. It was not difficult to remind him of that. He values your friendship, as do I. We three are stronger when we are of one mind. Today, we are of one mind. We will spend this time building up Cair Andros along with our friendship, and when we return, we will take Thengel to ‘The Three Fishermen’ and amuse him with tales of our adventure. I look forward to that more than anything.’

‘Is that really all this trip means to you?’

‘Aye. We are following orders, that is all.’

‘You speak of us being of one mind. I suddenly feel that there is more upon your heart than Cair Andros, my friend. Tell me, before you bring sorrow or shame upon yourself. What other actions are you planning?’

Denethor took a deep breath. ‘I am being foolish, Thengel would think. But I cannot, have not, been able to forgive my father for making me break my promise to Findegon and his men. I cannot do this thing. I cannot live with myself. I must go to Henneth Annûn and explain what has happened. I cannot relieve them, but I can at least... Amdir, how am I to endure this shame? I was foolish, yes, by saying that they would be relieved before I had father’s permission. But it seemed so apparent to me that there was such need. How could I have ever known that father would stay his hand in helping them? They have been there too long. And Damrod is now relegated to banishment, unbeknownst to him.’ His shoulders slumped and Rochallor slowed his pace as his master’s hand loosened his grip.

‘I believe it is time for us to set camp, my Lord.’ Amdir pulled his own horse up. He turned to Dúinhir and commanded the lad to set Denethor’s tent. The rest of the company dissembled and set up camp for the night.


They sat next to each other in front of the fire, all discussion stayed by the enormity of Denethor’s plan. Amdir set aside thoughts of Listöwel; he now feared too much for his friend. This course of action that Denethor contemplated would spell disaster for him. Amdir could not understand Denethor’s compulsion to destroy himself for the men of Henneth Annûn. They were soldiers; they had foresworn themselves to Gondor’s care. How would he be able to persuade Denethor to set aside this action? Was his pride such that he would invite punishment and perhaps demotion? Shame for his friend blazed in his heart.

‘By the Valar, Denethor, if you do this thing, you will surely... Do you not remember when your father banished you from his household? If you do this thing, you risk banishment again. Is your pride worth this price? These men are soldiers. They do not expect you to disobey on their account. They would be ashamed to have you challenge the orders of their Captain-General. Please, I beg you, do not do this thing. Not only will you have to bear this, but I will have to bear the shame and regret, knowing that your concern for me led you to a path that would cause your destruction.’

The air crackled with the vehemence of Amdir’s plea. Denethor sat in stunned silence. ‘You speak wisely,’ he sighed at last. A shake of his head and an arm around his friend’s shoulder told Amdir that his words had hit home. ‘I... I would turn from your words of caution and concern, if I could, but the words you speak hold only truth in them. What price pride? Surely pride would be destroyed by disobedience. How could I have thought to do such a thing? This shame has gnawed at my heart these past months and have pushed aside thoughts of my duty to my liege lord. I owe you much, Amdir.’

‘No more than I owe you, my Lord. No more than I owe you.’


The weeks passed quickly and Amdir breathed a sigh of relief as they finally turned towards Minas Tirith. He had not slept well since he had discovered Denethor’s scheme. Every morning, he had quickly scanned the company to make sure Denethor was still with them and had not run off in pursuit of his lost honour. He would never tell Thengel how close they had come to losing their friend. The horror of it still shook Amdir when he considered what might have been.


When they returned, they found Morwen was again with child and Thengel beside himself. The joy that shone in his face spread to all who came anywhere near him. His laughter filled the air. Denethor loved being around him though he did not understand this compulsion to continue begetting offspring. It was not the way of Gondor. Indis was taking it all in stride, rejoicing at the tasks set before her, and loving every moment of caring for Morwen, ordering clothing, and all the myriad tasks associated with the birth of another child. Forgotten was the long labor and the struggle and the fear that attended the birth of Hild. It was different this time, she told herself. Though it had only been months since Morwen had given birth, Indis was sure Morwen's body was ready for another. She yearned to share in the thrill of this time before them and Thengel was not above wrapping his arms around her, swinging her in a small dance movement, and sharing the joy of the new life with her. Indis so loved this man and his joy of life. That he would include her in his family’s happiness was beyond her understanding. And her gratitude was deep.

Denethor was going to introduce Thengel to a carpenter of renown. The two friends were oft seen in the barrack’s dining hall, heads bent together over sketches of cradles for the new one. Thengel seemed to have a knowledge of woods and insisted that the baby’s cot be made of oak. The finest oak, Denethor knew, grew in southern Ithilien. They would gather a half company of the Horse Guard and make a sortie into that land in two days time. Hild had been placed in a cradle made for Denethor, but there were none other available that Denethor felt worthy enough for Thengel’s newest addition.


The good-byes lasted too long from Denethor’s point of view. They would only be gone a few days, yet the good-byes were such one would think they were leaving for two years! Listöwel and Morwen and Indis all gathered around the soldiers and Denethor’s face burned with shame at the ruckus around them. Would Thengel never call the men to task and take them away from this noise? At last, they were on their way. The smell of horses, the snap of the banners as they rode the streets of Minas Tirith, set Denethor’s heart skipping. He had finally been able to put away his despondency over Henneth Annûn and concentrate on his training again. But this sortie would be a blessed relief to the dull routine of that training. Perhaps, he would be able to stop at Emyn Arnen and speak with Findegon’s kin. Ecthelion had said naught of that. He smiled a little at the thought. Some measure of honour might yet be saved.
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II

The ride towards Ithilien was full of soldiers' banter, horses' hooves throwing dust into riders' faces, and the smell of fresh air, herbs, and trees starting their spring bloom. A perfect day for a soldier – except for this soldier. It had been almost a half year since Denethor had left Findegon. Why would that name not leave him? Why did the visage of that man keep rising to greet him at the beginning of the day and sleep with him at night? Why? Was it guilt? He knew he was of a melancholy nature, but this was beyond melancholy. It was a fixation. Perhaps Findegon reminded him of Cranthir – they would both be of the same age, of the same Ithilien legacy, if Cranthir had lived. How was he to free himself from this shadow that haunted him?

Amdir guided Hros next to Denethor and smiled ruefully at the sight of the scowl on his friend's face. What could be bothering him, now, he wondered? 'Hallo, have you gotten us lost?' he laughed.

Denethor's scowl grew deeper. 'Not in my charge today are you, so you have no fear of being lost.'

'Ah, is that what makes you so grim? You are not in command?'

'You have so little...' A sigh escaped Denethor's lips. 'It is because of me that Thengel is traveling this path. I was the one who told him of the oaks in Ithilien. Would I offer such of Gondor's wealth if I had not expected Thengel to take the company himself?' he spat out.

'You are in some mood today, my friend, but it will do naught to take away my joy at traveling at your side.' For a moment, the grin left his face as he thought of what he had left behind in Minas Tirith. Then he shook himself and smiled again. 'My Lord, will you not tell Thengel of our adventures in the wilds of Ithilien chasing flowers?' He outright laughed now and Denethor was hard-pressed not to join him. Finally, after these many long years, the shame of that adventure was mellowing and becoming a favored tale.

'You yourself may tell the saga tonight, my friend,' Denethor did laugh. 'We will be very near to the spot at our crossing this day. Perhaps we two could turn left and find the field. I wonder, much as your mother loves the iris we brought back, perhaps we should dig up a bunch or two more for her.'

'We would not even be able to find them,' Amdir said. 'They will not bloom for another two months. Neither of us would have much luck locating that field. If you remember, we almost didn't find them then and the field was fully bloomed!'

'Nay, it was your constant chatter that kept my mind from focusing on our quest. You forget how often I begged you to restrain yourself. You were so loud the birds flew from us. Any hope I had of concentrating was lost every time you opened your mouth.'

'I did not open my mouth for nothing, my friend. If you remember, you were frightened near out of your wits and it was my merry mouth that kept our spirits lifted. And I would do it again for you – any time!' He side-stepped Hros from the arm that flailed towards him and beat a path towards Thengel's side. He had accomplished what he had set out to do – put a smile on Denethor's lips.


The company was passing Emyn Arnen on their right as they approached the Harad Road. Denethor brought Rochallor next to Thengel, put his hand on Thengel's arm and asked if they might stop for nuncheon. Thengel was surprised. He had planned on eating on the road; the men had plenty of dried meat and water to keep them until they set camp. But Denethor's look told him there was more in the simple request than thoughts of food. The mission they were on was mostly personal and could be delayed for a time.

'Come, while the men tend the horses. I need to speak with you,' Thengel said, giving his friend an excuse for their leaving the company and a moment to collect his thoughts once they had dismounted.

'My Lord. You have been our Captain for many a long year. And I have learned much from you during this time. You have been kind to share your thoughts with me, your burdens on leading the men. I now have a question that I cannot answer myself. I am distraught with pondering it. May I...may I share my concern with you?'

'Denethor,' Thengel put a hand on his friend's shoulder, 'you have only to ask.' He walked forward in silence, waiting.

'Ecthelion says that I must not contact Findegon.' The sigh was torn from his lips. 'I have always obeyed my father. Well, most of the time,' he groaned as he saw the look in Thengel's eyes. 'But now, this is...I must ask you. When does a soldier have the right to disobey?'

Thengel drew in his breath slowly, trying desperately to answer his friend truthfully without being treasonous himself. He lowered his head, tied his golden hair back, and sat on a rock cropping. He motioned for Denethor to sit next to him. 'I have questioned your father's orders myself,' he said at last. 'To leave the men there, after seventeen years of service with no respite, is reprehensible enough, but to not send further orders? I do not understand it. There may come a time when a soldier must disobey. However, there must be a grave breach in the Laws of Gondor before a soldier may even consider such a thing. Now, we must deliberate - has there been a grave breach? Is it right to leave men to die with no knowledge that they are being left to die?' Thengel shook his head. 'Is that what Ecthelion is doing – leaving them to die? I am not sure. He said the Rangers of Minas Tirith are not ready to be sent to man Henneth Annûn. That does not establish a reason for not sending orders to the men already there. We are bound to obey Ecthelion, but we are also bound to obey our hearts. My heart says we must honour our fellow soldiers. But my heart also says we must obey our Captain-General. I believe he has valid reasons for doing this; I believe it is not a grave breach of the Law, but I do believe it is a breach nonetheless. I cannot tell you what to do, my friend. But I myself will obey Ecthelion in this. I will promise you, though, once we are finished with this business, I will again approach him and strongly urge him to send errand-riders with new orders. What say you to that?'

Denethor lifted his head. 'Aye, my Captain,' he said, grief momentarily lifting from him, 'I will abide by your decision. And I will hope mightily that Ecthelion will change his mind. Or grace us with the knowledge of why he is doing what he is doing. I must tell you this, though, we are near to Emyn Arnen. The families of those very men are living here. May we go through the woods instead of the Harad Road, find their encampment and make sure all is well with them?'

'Aye, it is a good thought. I would want the same for my family.'


The smell of fires burning reached Denethor's nose before he saw the encampment. It smelt almost like venison was being cooked, but he was unsure. It is nuncheon; all is well, he thought. But all was not well. The fire he smelt was of burning cottages mixed with the pungent odor of burning flesh – not deer. His mind suddenly recognized the smell for what it was as did his companions'. Thengel quickly stopped the company and drew his men close. 'Denethor,' he hissed, 'take a quarter of the company towards the east, circle the camp and wait for my signal. Amdir, you do the same on the west but follow through to come up from the south. Ciramir, you take the last quarter and guard my left flank. Now, go, quietly.'

It took only moments to encircle the small encampment and Denethor waited. The signal came and the men charged, not able to see through the thick trees what they were about to do battle with. Fear lay cold on their minds; righteousness blazed in their hearts. As they burst through, they found no enemy; only the dead lay to tell of the cruelty of the attack.

Thengel sobbed as he saw little bodies lying next to cruelly hacked women. There were only a few bodies of men strewn about - young men at that; none with the knowledge of how to protect their charges. Denethor remembered that Findegon had said their sons were guarding their homes. He had made a fatal error in not leaving some of his veterans in the camp. The only blessing about the camp was its size; too little for a full scale attack. The casualties would be few. It seemed the enemy was a small band – but of what. Orcs, Corsairs, Haradrim? Who had come to this corner of Gondor and brought death? The defense had been so poor that none of the enemy lay slain. Thengel set pickets outside the camp, Ciramir took a scouting party to make sure that none of their foe were left in the area, and Amdir and Denethor were assigned the duty of searching for any left alive – friend or foe – in the burning huts, while the rest of the men were given grave duty. Bodies were still warm and fear held the soldiers as they watched their backs while digging the burial holes. Denethor and Amdir wrapped cloths around their faces and braved the flames. There could be little ones alive. Denethor shook as he entered the first shelter. It was empty, much to his relief. The next three were empty, but he heard cries as he approached the fourth one. The flames were beyond the thatched roof and pieces of it were falling into it. He called Amdir and they both ran in. On the floor under a cot was a tiny child, dark from the soot falling around it. The only reason Denethor saw him was because of the eyes which shone brightly with tears. His mother must have hidden him in a blanket under the cot in the hopes of saving his life. Denethor quickly scooped the babe up and ran out; Amdir stayed to make sure there were none others left behind. The roof started to collapse around him and he cried out shrilly.


Listöwel and Indis were laughing at Morwen’s discomfiture. ‘If you think you feel awkward now, remember how you will feel in just a few month’s time,’ Elleth laughed. Morwen grimaced. Of course she remembered. How could she forget the large abdomen, the swollen feet, the... ‘Nay, I will think on it no longer. Nor will I grumble again,’ she said sheepishly. ‘At least for this day,’ she laughed and all four women began giggling. They all spoke at once of how difficult it would be for Morwen not to complain and tripped over each other’s words in the delight of their friendship. Elleth brought more tea into the little sewing room and the scent of orange blossoms filled the air. ‘I believe next time we get together we must try some of the wine Thengel gave Ingold.’

‘Ah,’ Indis laughed, ‘if we did that we would surely sew two arms on one side of our dresses and end up looking like Orcs. I can just see Ecthelion’s expression!’

Elleth cried with laughter. The sight of the four of them entering the Great Hall dressed as Orcs was too much for her. Her friends saw the look on her face and broke out in laughter too, their fear of Orcs overshadowed by the absurdity of the vision Indis had brought to mind.

Morwen cried out, ‘We must get on with our sewing. There is so little time left to us and I really do not want to be bending over such fine work as my stomach grows!’

Indis smiled and hugged her friend. ‘We will not even consider your helping us in your later days.’

For all the laughter, the sewing was going well, she thought. They were concentrating on Listöwel’s attire for the moment. They had many months to prepare for the babe, but only a few for the troth pledging. It was to be in May. Indis took great delight in knowing the couple had unwittingly chosen the day of her own birth for their special day. Minas Tirith would be covered in flowers; that was all the decoration that Listöwel would allow, the natural beauty of the gardens of the City in full bloom.

‘Here, look at the color of this flower,’ Listöwel cried. ‘Is it not perfect for my attendants’ dresses?’

Morwen looked in horror at the bright orange chrysanthemum in the picture Listöwel held up. She could just imagine herself in such a color, looking like an oliphant. She had said this out loud and the others howled their delight.

The dresses were not going to be finished this day, Indis thought to herself. But of what matter was that when friendship was being sewn.


‘Amdir!’ Denethor screamed the name as he watched in horror as the roof collapsed upon his friend.

Thengel, still mounted, drove Nahar towards the hut, dismounted and ran into the burning building. Denethor had passed the child to a startled soldier and was right behind his Captain. The stunned men watched as the side wall of the hut collapsed. Flames and smoke billowed from the open door as the remaining walls tilted crazily. No sound could be heard in the encampment – no sound but the crackling of fire and the crashing of roofs, walls and trees, caught too near the conflagration to be saved.

One of the men quickly grabbed a bucket, ran to the well in the center of the encampment, filled the bucket and ran to toss its contents on the flames. Others followed his lead. Buckets, carrying too little for the task, were quickly filled, emptied, and filled again. The men worked furiously, always with their eyes upon the door – waiting. Near to seventy men kept up the work, those closest to the flames being relieved every few moments by those closer to the well. They were making headway – the flames were lessening but the smoke was increasing making it more difficult to see as they dumped bucket after bucket on the fire. The smoke had changed from deep black to white and the men knew their battle was almost over. And still – no one came through the door.
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III.

Ciramir’s patrol had returned upon sighting the billowing smoke. He feared the enemy had swung around behind them and were attacking the company. They rode fast and hard back to the camp. He could not understand the chaos that greeted him as they came out of the forest into the clearing. What were the men doing? What was the haste? And where was his Captain? He jumped off his horse and grabbed the nearest man by the collar.

‘What is going on here?’ he yelled over the bedlam.

‘Men are caught in that hut. We are unable to rescue them.’ He pulled himself away from the hand gripping him, picked up his bucket and ran to the well.

Ciramir’s heart froze. Where was his Captain? He motioned for his men to join the bucket brigade and ran towards the hut. His eyes searched the site. Where was Denethor, Amdir, Thengel?

‘Soldier,’ he screamed. The flames were crackling as they swept through the dry wood of the hut and drowned out all other sounds. ‘Where is Captain Thengel?’

‘My Lord, he is inside the hut along with Lord Denethor. I know not who else is with them.’

‘What were they doing in there?’ he cried in fear and frustration.

But the man could not hear him, or did not wish to answer, or was too heartsick to reply.

Ciramir saw that the fire was slowly being extinguished. But it would still be sometime before it was totally out. We must do something, he thought; we cannot wait like this. He ran towards his own patrol and motioned for his men to follow him. They ran to some nearby fallen trees and started pulling them towards the hut. An axe was found and branches were struck from the trunks. Then they ran towards the fallen wall of the hut. Ciramir stopped his men.

‘Listen to me. We cannot wait for the flames to subside. We must venture a rescue now. Who will volunteer to help me?’ All hands went up and the men ran ever closer to the hut dragging the shorn trees behind them. It was desperate work and Ciramir had little hope of success; but hope was all that was left to them.


It was only mid-morning, but Morwen was starting to feel the pangs of hunger. When she mentioned it, her friends giggled. ‘Eating for two, this one is,’ said Elleth. ‘Come, let us to the kitchen. I had started bread this morning. It has proofed twice and should be ready to put into the fireplace.’ She had punched the dough down an hour ago and placed it into two greased baking pans. ‘There are cheeses on the sideboard; Listöwel, why don’t you bring them to the table and cube them. Indis, there are fresh vegetables in the cooling bin. We shall have a lovely meal. Oh, and some herbs from the garden. And bring some chamomile leaves in too. That should help our dear Morwen’s tummy so she can eat with ease.’

The women, starting about the business of preparing nuncheon, were stopped suddenly by a moan from Morwen. ‘What is it?’ they all cried at once.

‘Some fearful thing has happened. I know not what.’

‘Is it the child? Are you having pains?’ Indis cried in distress.

‘No, no it is not I.’ Shivers ran through her body and Indis ran to her and sat her in a chair by the table.

‘What is it, dearest sister-friend?’ she begged as she knelt by her side.

‘It is said that night oft brings news to near kindred. Oh dear Indis, I fear for Thengel. Even though it is full day, something in my heart tells me that night has settled on him whom I love.’

Listöwel’s face went white.


The flames were not as strong on the open side of the hut. The men took the tree trunks and braced them against the front and back walls as close as they could get. The fire seemed to be concentrated at the other end where the three walls were conjoined and dried firewood had been piled for the occupant’s winter heat. Part of the patrol held back the walls with the tree trunks while others started dragging out cots, chairs, clothes, anything that was burning. Their gloves were soon smoldering. Others climbed over the broken furniture and shards of the fallen roof, still ablaze in this area. They shouted Thengel’s name and then Denethor’s as they pushed aside debris in a desperate hunt for their comrades. The noise of the fire, the smoke blinding them, and the shouts of the bucket brigade all conspired to keep them from finding the lost. Their throats were raw from yelling, from smoke, and from flame.

Dúinhir, Denethor’s aide, upon seeing what Ciramir’s men were about, ran into the hut himself, pulling aside everything in his way like a wose of the Drúadan Forest. His head moved to and fro, from right to left in his frantic search. At last, he cried out so loud that all could hear, ‘My Lord!’ and tugged at a cot near the door. Pulling a body from under it, he swung it over his shoulder and ran for the opening. Ciramir was next to him immediately and tried to take the body from him, but the lad would not let go. He ran towards the center of the square and then gently laid his burden down. Arciryas, waiting to do something, anything to help, ran to his side and bent down to look at the man. He drew his breath in sharply. The blackened face was indeed Denethor’s. Sobs racked Dúinhir’s body.

Ciramir, finding new hope in the discovery, ran back into the hut towards the place where Denethor was found. Nothing there. He turned towards the other side of the door and his heart stopped and swelled all at the same time. It was Thengel. He gently picked his Captain up and ran into the open. Running towards the spot where Denethor lay, he placed his Captain down before the healer. Arciryas stopped for a moment and turned towards Thengel. He laid his head upon the Captain’s chest and listened. Noise was everywhere. He pled with Ciramir to quiet the troops and Ciramir stood and bellowed, ‘Silence!’ Immediately, all quieted, but the buckets continued to be passed from hand to hand. There was one still left in the hut.

Arciryas looked up at Ciramir. ‘They both live, but are sorely burned. I must have men. I have brought no unguents for burns; only salves and creams for wounds. We must send the men to find aloe plants and lavendar. Oh, and Comfrey root, we must find some for their lungs. Ciramir looked at him as if he spoke Dwarvish.

‘My Lord, I have no idea as to what these plants are or what they look like. How are we to find them?’

‘My Lord,’ a soldier stepped up close. ‘I know these plants. I will help find them, if I may.’

‘What is your name, soldier?’

‘Baranor, my Lord, newly recruited from Lossarnach.’

‘Ciramir, send ten of your men with this man. All these plants grow here in Ithilien. Even though it be winter’s end and they lie dormant, still their medicinal qualities will not be diluted. Baranor,’ he turned toward the soldier, ‘go as quickly as possible. Haste is our greatest weapon now. Please!’

Ciramir sent off ten men with the soldier and another ten towards Osgiliath for reinforcements and for a cart to carry the wounded back to Minas Tirith. Then he turned towards the hut. Amdir was still missing. His Lord would never forgive him if they found him too late.

By now the conflagration was diminished to small fires here and there. The hut itself looked wretchedly despoiled. The roof was gone, a wall was missing; it looked pitiful. Men were pulling out the last of the rubble. Still, there was no sign of Amdir. Ciramir shook his head. Where could he be? A soldier came up to him.

‘My Lord, the men are looking in the wrong places. Amdir was already in the hut when the roof collapsed. It was only then that Denethor and Thengel moved to rescue him. He cannot be near the door.’

Ciramir shoved the man aside and ran towards the back of the hut. The last of the furniture was still here. He pushed a cot aside and knelt in the soot. Tears sprang to his eyes. Only nineteen and to be wed this spring. Gently, he lifted Amdir and strode towards the square. The men all stood back, buckets hanging useless at their sides. One or two of the men kicked their buckets in anger and frustration. ‘All for naught,’ he heard one man say. He looked up. ‘Our Captain is alive,’ he said loudly, ‘and Lord Denethor also. There may still be hope for this one. Start a fire and boil water. I want clean cloths found and cots set up. Get them from the other huts and place them next to the healer. Then finish your burial duty. Dúinhir?’

The lad came to him, swiping tears from his eyes. ‘Yes, my Lord?’

‘I am raising you to the rank of ensign. I need you to take two squads and sweep the area. We are most vulnerable now. We must not be attacked unawares. The pickets are still out, are they not?’

‘Yes, my Lord. They know their duty. They have not left their posts, though some are great friends of the wounded.’

‘We all are great friends of the wounded, Dúinhir; you also,’ he put his hand on the lad’s shoulder. ‘I wish I did not have to put this burden upon you, but fate has happened that you are next in command of those left able to fight.’ A small humourless smile touched his lips.

Dúinhir placed his hand upon his chest and bowed. ‘My Lord, we will do as you bid,’ and walked off. In short order, the patrol road off into the woods. Ciramir shook his head. Almost as soon as men were recruited, they were either dead or promoted.
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IV.

His mind stirred and bits of a wizard's words trickled through the darkness. 'You will die in fire and ash.' He wanted to go back into nothingness, to hide from that voice. Not only was his mind torturing him, but the faint touch of wakefulness brought incredible pain with it. His body trembled. Someone was pressing cool cloth to his forehead, but his hands were on fire. Fire - now he remembered and his eyes flew open. 'Amdir,' he tried to cry, but only a whimper came from his cracked, bleeding lips.

'Shhh,' a voice whispered in his ear as his eyes, too tired to stay open, fell shut again. 'All is well, my Lord Denethor. Rest now,' and a cool draught was poured down his throat. The world drifted away again. Gratefully, he sank into its darkness.

Ciramir stood. How would they ever get back to the City? They could move none of the injured. And yet, fear lingered in the back of his mind. Osgiliath had yet to answer his call. Where was Húrin? Was this massacre a ruse by the enemy? Perhaps the foe was even now attacking Osgiliath, or worse yet, Minas Tirith? He shook his head. I must stay calm, he thought. There is nothing more to fear. The pickets are out, Dúinhir is patrolling the land, and I am tired. He walked towards his Captain. Thengel sat propped against a tree; he had refused the offered cot. Ciramir squatted down next to him.

'My Lord, should I send others to Osgiliath? Night has fallen and still no reply. Five leagues is not that far. Someone in Osgiliath should have seen the smoke and sent a patrol out long before our errand-riders even left here.'

Thengel looked at him; the tiredness in his eyes was cruel to see. 'You should be resting yourself. How long has it been now - you say we have been here the better part of eight hours - most of it with you and the men fighting the fires? You have worked tirelessly. Sit, here beside me, and rest.'

'But you, yourself. How fare you, my Lord?'

'It hurts to take a breath and my head aches, but Arciryas says if I keep drinking the comfrey tea, I should feel better soon.' A fit of coughing racked his body. After a few moments, which increasingly alarmed Ciramir, the hacking ceased. 'Please, sit with me.'

Trying to sit as cautiously as possible so as not to cause his Captain further pain, Ciramir positioned himself on the ground next to him. He laid his head back against the tree's harsh bark and closed his eyes. He told himself it would only be for a moment.

Baranor walked up to the two men. 'My Lord Thengel,' he whispered, 'you should sleep yourself. Arciryas has prepared this draught of valerian tea for you. It should help you sleep, and you must needs sleep now. Please drink it.'

'In a moment,' Thengel said, the thought of the pungent smelling tea almost nauseated him. 'Tell me, how is Denethor?'

'He woke for a few moments but is asleep again. He is restless. The valerian seems to do naught for him. I believe he worries for Amdir. He calls his name. Arciryas says he will recover. It will just take time.'

Thengel looked at the lad. 'Dúinhir has been promoted; he will no longer be Denethor's aid. Will you now take that post?'

Baranor was stunned. 'Yes, my Lord, if that is your wish.'

'It is my command. You have shown yourself well this day. He was afraid to ask the next question. 'And Amdir? Is there hope for Amdir?'

'Arciryas has not stopped his ministrations. He had the men place him in a trough of water for a few moments as soon as they brought him out of the fire, as they did for Denethor and you afterwards, then he made a poultice of aloe and lavender. He has been reapplying it to his burns every few hours, then wrapping him in clean cloth.'

'How much of his body was burned?'

Baranor shook his head. 'His back is difficult to look upon, but it seems to be where the burn is the worst. Blisters are already forming. He must have tucked his hands under his stomach for they are unscathed. And, though much of his hair has been singed, the scalp does not seem to be badly burned. Arciryas is, nonetheless, very concerned.' If the lad lived, Baranor did not tell Thengel, it would be a marvel.


The women insisted that Morwen be put to bed. They would call her when they had aught to report. Indis would go to Ecthelion and inquire as to happenings in and about Gondor.

'All will be well, my dearest,' she whispered to Morwen. 'It is only the carrying of the babe that is giving you distress. Thengel, and all his company, are well. Now please rest. Listowel will stay with you while Elleth and I go to my Father.' Listowel looked at the two women - their heads bent together in discourse. She could see the love that flowed between them. And she wished with all her heart that one day she would be as close as they.

Elleth and Indis started to run as soon as they left Elleth's home. Both knew women with child were more susceptible to visions.

Ecthelion was just releasing Húrin and his troops as the women reached at last the High Court, and the place of the Fountain before the feet of the White Tower.

Indis stood back for a moment, assessing what was happening. Then she stepped forward. 'My Lord, why is the battalion from Osgiliath here? Has something untoward happened?'

Confused, Ecthelion looked at her. 'What do you speak of? Húrin is here at my command. There is nothing amiss.'

'Forgive me, Lord. I...Morwen had a vision. I was concerned. Now, I see that all is well. Again, forgive me, my Lord, for interrupting.' She made as if to turn away.

'What say you about a vision?'

Indis turned back towards her Father. 'She saw Thengel, seeming unable to breathe and lying against a tree, my Lord. But if Captain Húrin is here, then she must have interpreted it incorrectly.'

Ecthelion looked towards Ithilien. His face whitened and his hands clenched. 'There is smoke from the forest. Húrin , take your men immediately and determine what is amiss. I will expect an errand-rider before dawn.'


Arciryas himself walked over. 'Thengel, you should be sleeping by now. Where is that draught I sent over?'

'It is here at my side, waiting for me to drink it. The smell would cause a to Mûmak run for cover.'

Arciryas quietly laughed. 'It is sleep that seems to run from camp this night. No one is resting and I fear I will have more patients on the morrow if certain people do not rest.' He looked at Ciramir. 'Though I see one such has finally taken my advice.'

'He did not take your advice, dear Arciryas. Sleep overcame him unbidden.'

'I would it would do the same for you, my Lord.'

Thengel gave a harsh laugh. 'I myself would this night were over. Bitter has this day been. My heart gives me more pain than these burns. I would that we were here earlier to save these people, these children.' A sob broke from his burnt lips. 'I grieve for them as I would for my own. Soldiers' children should not die in this manner; their homes should not be turned into a battlefield.'

Arciryas sat for a moment, bereft of words. 'The men are very helpful,' he finally said, trying to turn his Captain's thoughts to easier matters. 'They are not used to doing healing work, but they are adapting well. I have two men keeping the fires burning and two more soaking cloth in the boiled water. I have another two stripping aloe leaves and crushing the lavender for my poultices. Those who are on 'tea duty' do not seem to realize you must cover the tea while it is brewing to keep the healing qualities potent, but they will learn.' Arciryas' droining voice nearly put Thengel to sleep.

There was the clamber of horses' hooves and a horn rang out. Thengel tried to stand but could not. Arciryas held his shoulder. 'Do not, my Lord, you will undue all the good we have done. It is Húrin . I can see him from here. Osgiliath has at last answered our call.'

Húrin drove his horse towards where Thengel lay. 'My Lord, forgive my lateness,' he cried as he jumped off his horse. 'We were called back to Minas Tirith. Your father deemed Ithilien safe with your company here. Forgive me!'

Thengel acknowledged the bow and motioned for Húrin to sit by him. 'I will not ask you the purpose of that summons. Suffice it to say, I am most grateful that you have arrived when you did. The men are exhausted. Duinhir has been on patrol for too long. Our pickets need strengthening...'

'And,' Arciryas interrupted, 'our Captain needs his rest.'

Thengel glared at the healer. 'We must decide what action to take now. I confess I am too tired to think.' Another fit of coughing engulfed him.

Arciryas looked at him in dismay. Thengel stopped his retort with a look. 'Denethor is badly hurt but will recover. I seem only to be burned on my hands and the poultice is cooling.' He smiled at Arciryas. 'Our healer is quite adept at his craft. However, Amdir is in need of additional remedies. He needs to be in the Houses of Healing.'

'We have brought no cart, my Lord. I will send for one immediately...'

'How is there no cart?' Thengel started in surprise. 'The errand-riders were told to ask that a cart be brought.'

'My Lord, we met no errand-riders.'

Silence engulfed the camp as the few who were awake understood what Húrin's statement meant.

'Ciramir,' Thengel gently shook his aide's shoulder. 'Ciramir,' he said again.

The eyes fluttered open and Ciramir quickly stood. 'My Lord?'

'Ciramir, when was the last time Dúinhir's patrol reported?'

'How long have I slept? No, it was about an hour before I came to your side.'

'When was he to report again?'

'Every four hours, as is our custom. What is wrong?'

'The errand-riders never made it to Osgiliath. We should have sent more than two men.'

'My Lord,' Ciramir said, 'I sent a full patrol - ten men.'

The sudden chill that swept Thengel was seen by the healer. He quickly took another blanket and threw it over Thengel's shoulders.

Húrin sat next to Thengel, more to keep the Captain still than for easier discourse. 'I have brought half the battalion with me. If you would allow, I will send two companies out to relieve Dúinhir and another two towards Osgiliath to search for the errand-riders and to return with a cart. That leaves your company and my last one to guard this area. Granted, your men are tired, but we will place extra pickets. My men will take first duty while yours rest.'

'We seem stretched too thin,' Thengel said more to himself than Húrin, 'but it will have to do.'

'I cannot leave Osgiliath untended,' Húrin said, apologetically.

'Of course you can not. I was not suggesting that,' Thengel snapped and then immediately apologized. 'Forgive me.'

'Nay, forgive me. If this plan meets your aproval, I will set it in motion.'

'Yes, the sooner the better,' Thengel said. 'I would know what we are up against as quickly as possible.'

Arciryas stepped forward. 'My Lord, Húrin I must beg you to use your influence upon Thengel. He must rest. He is greviously wounded and has yet to close his eyes.'

Thengel once again found himself glaring at Arciryas, but nothing would stop the healer from taking care of his Captain.

In the midst of this, and at the sound of the horn, Denethor awoke. His head ached terribly and his mouth tasted of soot. He tried to will away the pain in his hands and to concentrate upon the talk around him. He did not understand why, but he knew they were in serius trouble. None heard his moan, he thought and for that he was thankful. The question he had tried to ask went unanswered. Baranor had heard though and went immediately to his side.

'My Lord, you spoke?'

'Is that Captain Húrin I see?'

'Yes, my Lord. He brought half Osgiliath's battalion. They are relieving our men now. Here is some more tea, my Lord. Please drink it.'

Denethor tried to brush the cup aside, but found he could not control his own limbs. Shaking his head to clear it only made it ache more.

'Baranor, what is happening?'

'It is as I told you, my Lord. We are being relieved. Please, drink the healer's tea.'

Denethor lay back, exhausted. His mind whirled trying to make some sense of where he was at and what had happened. Finally willing it, he raised his bandaged hand and tried to touch Baranor's face. 'Baranor, please tell me. Is Amdir...' He found he could not ask it.

'My Lord, Amdir lives. He is badly burnt, but a cart is being sent for and Arciryas is tending him.'

'Too many words with too little meaning.' Tears of exhaustion and grief sprang up in Denethor's eyes. 'Is there any hope for him? Nay, do not answer that. I am sorry I asked. Go and do your duty.'

'My duty is to help you drink this tea and to stay by your side,' he said as Denethor finally ceased his struggling and drank the tea.
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V.

Dúinhir's patrol returned shortly after and were relieved, pickets were exchanged, and Hurin sat by Denethor's cot. Thengel had at last fallen into a troubled sleep. But it was sleep nonetheless. Arcaryis was tending Amdir. Húrin's duty to Ecthelion had brought him to Denethor's side. Only eighteen years, he mused. I remember him when he played with frogs and things. How could time have passed so quickly? Is there ever to be peace so that children may grow up carefree with a real future before them - not death and destruction? The lad stirred and Húrin picked up the moist cloth and wiped the sweat from Denethor's brow. The grey eyes flew open and Húrin was struck by the depth of those eyes. He had seen portraits of the Kings of Westernesse and, if ever a man of Gondor looked like one of those Kings - this one did. Those eyes now burnt into him and he found he could do naught but answer the unspoken questions.

'We still do not know the enemy we face nor the extent of the damage done. This village has been wiped out. The only survivor is the boy you found. The patrol sent to Osgiliath is surly lost, probably ambushed. New pickets have been - '

Findegon stood before him, his sun-darkened face contorted with pain. 'Denethor,' he hissed, 'what has happened here? Where are my people?'

'I am sorry, Findegon. Your people are dead. The village was attacked early this morning. We do not yet know the enemies name. We came too late.' Tears welled up in Denethor's eyes. 'Your people are all lost. Only one child was found alive. He is over by the third tent.'

Findegon turned and moved towards the tent. Ciramir was instantly at his side, bidden by a sign from Denethor. The Ranger bent over the sleeping child and a cry of joy and despair escaped his lips. 'Damrod, Damrod,' he cried and hugged the babe to his chest. Ciramir walked him to a stool and helped him sit. A few moments passed. Húrin made as if to speak, but Denethor motioned to him for silence. At last, Findegon rose, placed the babe back in the cot, walked over to Denethor, placed his hand on his chest and bowed.

'Ciramir tells me it was you saved my grandson. I thank you.' Denethor hung his head. Fate was so strange. Out of all those lost this day...The burden was too great, he thought, his heart breaking for Findegon.

'My son was one of those guarding this camp. Would you know where he is?' Findegon asked.

'Findegon,' Denethor sighed, 'we have buried the dead already. If your son was here, he did not survive. I am so very sorry. We have swept the land hoping to find survivors. There were none.'

'Not only my son, but all my kin lost as well. My wife, my son, his wife - all gone.'

Silence and sorrow engulfed the men. None were untouched by the horror of the day. For a fleeting moment, Denethor felt the fight was not worth the price. Perhaps they should desert this area and move west. But as quickly as the thought came, it passed. He could never leave Gondor nor Minas Tirith. Again, the memory of the White Tower as they had returned from Lossernach swept through his mind and the feeling of joy and awe as he looked upon it encompassed him. No, never could he leave her - not alive.

The next morning dawned bright and beautiful. Birds sang and still the huts smoldered. Denethor introduced Findegon to Húrin and Thengel. The men sat around Denethor's cot.

Thengel spoke. 'I believe you should return to Henneth Annûn and bring your men back here. We will abandon that place for the moment.' The look of grief on Findegon's face caused Thengel to pause and he put his hand on the Ranger's shoulder. 'You have done everything you could to protect Gondor. Now, we must collect our forces and report to Lord Ecthelion. I will not leave the few men you have left here alone.'

'My Lord is wise in all things, I see. We will do as you commmand. Our hearts will leave this place with a heaviness that I had not thought possible to bear. All I have loved and honoured were in this land!'

'We will be back!' Denethor interjected passionately and the coughing started anew. Baranor stepped to his side, a steaming cup of comfrey tea in his hand. He held it to Denethor's lips and Denethor tried to swallow sips between the coughing.

'Yes,' Thengel said, 'we will be back. Your men will be refitted with new uniforms and weapons and reinforcements. You will again be Rangers of Ithilien.'

'Nay, my Lord,' Findegon turned toward Denethor and bowed his head. 'I will not return here. I ask your leave to return to Minas Tirith and serve Gondor there.'

'It is not my right to accept or reject your request, Findegon. Your fate is in my Father's hands, but I will do everything in my power to make this happen, if that is your wish.' The men sat in silence.

Two companies of men - a full one hundred forty soldiers of Gondor - rode into the camp, a horse-drawn cart following behind them. Húrin went to speak with his men and returned shortly. 'I now believe it was Orcs who attacked this camp. The remains of the patrol have been found. It appears to me that a band came out of the mountains and attacked this village. They had begun their feasting when your company was discovered coming towards them. They fled and hid nearby, saw the errand-riders sent out, followed and attacked them. The band was small but there was little hope for the patrol. Where the Orcs have gone, I do not know, but I do believe they havve left the area. It was not a large enough band to attack our strength.'

Denethor remembered the state of the bodies of his grandfather Cranthir's company so long ago. Will we never be free, he wondered?

'We will leave tomorrow morning for Osgiliath,' Thengel stated. 'We will send four companies out today, west, east, north and south for one last survey of the area. Then we will head back to Minas Tirith.'

'Ecthelion ordered me to send errand-riders to him,' Húrin said.

'Nay, I will not. It has proven too dangerous unless I send an entire company and that I will not do. I have better uses for our men than to send them off thusly.'

Denethor sighed. His Father would be ill-pleased to have his orders countermanded. Another sigh escaped his lips and Thengel looked up, questioning. When Denethor said nothing, he turned towards Ciramir.

'Replace the pickets and send out the remaining two companies.' He was interrupted by Húrin . 'My Lord, if I might, I would take a company out myself?' Thengel nodded, weariness suddenly overtaking him. 'Ciramir, take Findegon's men and one company of ours, go to Henneth Annûn and bring the remaining Rangers back here.'

'My Lord,' both Húrin and Ciramir brought their hands to their chests, bowed their heads, and walked away.

'Well, Denethor, it seems you are having your way at last. The Rangers of Ithilien have been relieved!'
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VI.

'Denethor?' Thengel asked. 'What are your thoughts? Your sighs were loud enough to wake the dead.'

Denethor's face turned as red as his burnt hands. He shook his head. 'I would ask your pardon, Thengel. My mind has been in a thousand places, least not Minas Tirith. My...Ecthelion will be most displeased. Húrin should have sent errand riders as soon as he reached our camp. You know this would have been my father's orders. Now, a full day and a night have passed and still Ecthelion waits.'

Thengel moved his stool closer to the cot. His eyes were heavy with fatigue and pain. 'You would question me?' he asked gently.

Denethor shook his head. 'Nay, I know you are wise, as Findegon noted, but in the ways of diplomacy...? Know you not that my Father stands waiting? What do you gain by not obeying him?'

'What do I gain? How can you ask that? Do you not see the need for conserving our strength?'

Again Denethor sighed. 'My friend and counsellor. What have you taught me about obedience? You are commanding Húrin to disobey his Captain-General. We could survive with one less company. Would it not be better to send one of the more worn companies at a gentle gait to the city? Show Ecthelion the respect he is due. The men know he waits.'

Thengel let his head drop and finally Denethor realized his friend's need for rest. He motioned to Baranor, ever close at hand, who stepped forward. 'Please ask Arciryas to attend me if he has a moment.' Baranor nodded and swiftly left.

'Thengel?' he touched a bandaged hand to his friend's cheek. Thengel looked up in surprise. 'It is very near to nuncheon. Your orders are being carried out as we speak. Would you join me for the meal?'

Arciryas arrived and, at a look from Denethor, turned his attention to Thengel. The bandages on his Captain's hands were removed, new salve was gently spread over the burns, and fresh cloth was applied.

'My Lord,' Arciryas said, 'it is time you took rest again.' Thengel looked surprised at Arciryas request, saw Denethor's concerned smile, and laughed quietly. 'Your invitation for nuncheon was a ruse I see, to keep me by your side until our healer could arrive. Diplomacy!'

Denethor's smile widened. 'Perhaps you will join me in a cup of that foul-smelling valerian tea and an hour's rest?'

Baranor had brought a cot and placed it next to Denethor's. The two friends laughed quietly.

'Only for one hour,' Thengel retorted.


Morwen had been moved to Thengel's quarters in the Steward's Hall and Adanedhel had given her a gentle sleeping draught. Indis sat at her side while Listowel paced outside in the garden. Elleth brought in tea.

'A day and a night have passed since the vision. Do you think it was real?' Elleth asked.

Indis sighed. 'Yes, I believe it was real and that our men are in danger. I would that it were not so.'

Listöwel had overheard them, come into the room, and sat at Indis' feet. Indis laid her hand on the girl's head. 'This is a fin way to make wedding preparations,' she smiled gently at the girl. 'Our men are strong, dearest, and when joined as they are, the three of them are strongest. I do not feel that any of them will ever fall when they are together.'

Listöwel smiled through the tears that now fell at Indis' words. She had sensed the friendship, courage and strength that bound these three men together. The gentle words of Indis gave her much hope.

Elleth poured the tea and the three women grew in their own strength and courage.


In the morning, preparations were underway for the companies' departure. The fires had all been put out, the dead were buried and the cart had been prepared. Amdir was placed next to Denethor and Thengel. No sound had passed his lips, nor was there any movement from the burnt body. They had laid him on his stomach and in so doing, part of the bandage became dislodged and Denethor caught a glimpse of the damaged back. He cried out in pain, 'Amdir!' but there was no answer. Thengel took Denethor into his arms and held him close as his friend wept over the wreakage before them. Anciryas quickly jumped into the cart and rearranged the bandages.

'This is an order. You will both drink this before we begin our journey or we will not begin it.' Authority rang in his voice. Húrin stood by the side of the cart. Thengel and Denethor drank the draught and lay back. The grim procession started towards Osgiliath and soon sleep overcame the two friends.
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VII.

It took a full day to reach Osgiliath. The cart rode slowly with its precious cargo. Three times Arciryas called for rest. He changed bandages, heated prepared tea, and administered it to his charges. Then they started forward again.

When they reached Osgiliath, they found Ecthelion waiting for them. He permitted Arciryas to take the wounded to the battallion's barracks. He allowed no one to tell Denethor or Thengel that he was there. Húrin brought him to his own quarters, ordered dinner to be brought, and closed the door, telling his aide they were not to be disturbed. Ecthelion gave him a moment to lave his hands and face and prepare tea. When Húrin finally sat before his Captain-General, he found a very angry man across from him.

'First, tell me how it is that no errand-riders were sent to me as I had ordered?'

'My Lord, I have disobeyed you. May I give my full report before you pass judgement against me?'

'It matters not what caused this disregard for my orders, Húrin. You know yourself that obedience is everything in service to Gondor. There must be punishment for this.'

'Well I know it, my Lord, yet punishment should be tempered with wisdom.'

Ecthelion gave a soft smile. 'Perhaps if you would offer your Captain-General a cup of tea, punishment could be stayed?'

Húrin jumped up, chagrin written plainly upon his face; Ecthelion laughed warmly.

'Nay, dear Húrin, I will serve myself. And while I am doing so, please tell me what you have found.'

So Húrin sat and told of the village, the wounded, the lost patrol, and all the while Ecthelion feigned being thoroughly engrossed in the making of tea. At the end of Húrin's report, he went to the door and ordered the aide to bring Arciryas to him, if he was not needed. Húrin started to speak again, but Ecthelion held his hand up for silence. The two men sat, both deep in thought. The gentle steps of the healer broke the silence.

'My Lord,' Arciryas said as he bowed his head and placed his hand on his chest. Ecthelion nodded and Arciryas reported on his movements during the battle and afterwards, the state of his patients, and what the recovery for each would entail.

Ecthelion nodded when he was finished and excused him.

Húrin sat in wonder. At last Ecthelion spoke. 'This has been a hard few days for us all, has it not?' Húrin knew he was not required to answer.

Denethor burst into the room. 'Father!' he said and hugged him close. Ecthelion, startled, remembered Cranthir's burial day, the day he and Denethor had been reconciled. He held him at arm's length. 'My son,' he said warmly, 'it is good to see you. Here, sit at my side. Arciryas has said you were resting.'

'I was, Father, but I suddenly knew you were here. I...I had to see you.' He suddenly blushed at the rememberance of the exuberance of his greeting.

Ecthelion smiled at his discomfiture. 'As I said, it is good to see you.'

Húrin stood as if to leave. 'No, please stay. Our greetings are done. You have relieved the Rangers?'

'Aye, my Lord. The Orc band has not been found. We deemed it prudent.'

'Yes, it would seem so. Yet now Ithilien is empty of her soldiers and those who live there are unguarded. I cannot leave Ithilien unprotected.'

'No, my Lord, I see your point. Perhaps we should abandon Ithilien entirely?'

Ecthelion looked up, sharpely. 'That will not happen! Ithilien is part of Gondor and will be under the protection of Gondor.' Vehemence sharpened his voice.

'Father, Captain Inlach has been preparing the Rangers in Minas Tirith for the last year. He has five full companies, well trained. Two companies - one hundred and forty men - can be sent to Henneth Annûn. It will be a tight fit, but the men are stalwart. Another two companies may be stationed at Emyn Arnen and another company at Cair Andros. The forces at Pelargir will be able to patrol South Ithilien. If we could device a long-distance signalling system, like the one Captain Vëantur had for his ships.' Excitement was tinging Denethor's words as his thoughts raced to the great sea-captain of Númenor. 'They used a system of flags, Father, dipped a certain number of times for words. We could make shields, perhaps coat their surface with mithril, or put polished crystals on them - anything to reflect the light of Anor - then device some code to communicate between the three garrisons. Well... I have not thought it all out, but it would work.'

Húrin clapped Denethor on the shoulder. 'I do believe it will work. Where did you read about this code?'

Denethor blushed. 'As a youth, I spent quite some time reading of the great sailors of Númenor. The accounts are all in the Great Library.'

Ecthelion sat back; Denethor could not tell if he was angry or interested. He held his breath. His father stood, poured tea, and set it before Denethor who looked up in surprise. 'Drink this,' Ecthelion said. 'Arciryas left it for you. And then retire for the night.'

Walking back to his barracks, Denethor did not know whether to laugh or cry. He knew they could devise a system. The captains of the ships out of Pelargir used a system that was close to what they needed. It should be easy enough. And Ithilien must not be abandoned. It was now too dangerous for errand riders. What would Ecthelion do, he wondered as he fell into bed? His heart was still racing at the joy of the challenge, but his body succumbed to sleep almost immediately.


'Why are they not back yet? Why were no errand-riders sent? Where is Ecthelion?' Morwen wrung her hands. Dawn had found her pacing the little garden of their apartments. Indis stood by, waiting patiently, letting her friend spend her anguish in words and motion. Finally, Morwen looked at her, and smiled apologetically. 'I am sorry, Indis. I know Ecthelion is doing all he can. I just need word.'

'I know you do. Word will come when it is time. I believe we should go to the Houses of Healing after our meal and help prepare for the wounded. The battallion will probably have spent the night in Osgiliath. They should arrive here around noon. Father did send an errand rider with word that there were wounded, but no other word did he send.'

Morwen blanched. 'My heart tells me that all is well, but the vision stays with me. I will go with you to the Houses.'

After breaking their fast, the women walked slowly down to the Sixth Level where they were met by Adanedhel.

'We have come to help,' Indis answered his unasked question. 'Morwen will take her time and do only tasks that require sitting. I myself, along with Listowel and Elleth when they come, will prepare salves, unguents, and teas, with your instruction, of course.'

Adanedhel sighed. 'There are only three wounded and a babe, orphaned. Perhaps you will deign to take the child?'

Mowen gave a cry. 'A babe? A babe has been found? But how? Why?'

'I know none of the details. Nor the names of the wounded,' he said as he noted Indis open mouth. 'You will have to wait, as I must.'

'I believe I can speak for Elleth. She will take the child. Know you not its parentage?'

'Nay, as I have told you, my Lady, I have no further details. We must needs wait.'

Morwen and Indis left the Houses with no clear idea as to what they would do next.
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VIII.

Indis and Morwen were sitting by the escarpment on the Seventh Level watching and waiting. Dust became visible in the distance and they knew a great company was approaching from the direction of Osgiliath. A quick hug and then they ran to Elleth's home, found Listöwel with her, shared their news, and proceeded towards the First Level and the Great Gate. They paced their steps to assure Morwen did not tax herself beyond endurance; they must protect the babe. Sober were they and quiet. Each woman walked silently, engrossed in her own thoughts, afraid of what each would find. At last they reached the Great Gate, which was opening as they approached. They searched the faces of the soldiers, holding hands in solidarity, supporting each other through their touch. Morwen crumpled into Elleth's arms as her eyes told her Thengel was not with the riders. Indis ran to the cart. The entourage was so long, the cart had yet to pass through the gates.

Denethor smiled wearily up at her. She cried out in relief. Though the ride had been long and hard for the wounded, it was a joy to see her face, in all its state of worry. 'Your hair is a mess,' he laughed quietly and held her hand. Tears sprang into both pairs of eyes as she gently took the bandaged hand. Denethor loved this woman so dearly. Always, he could rely upon her for support, love and counsel. Did she know of his love for her? Life was so short, he had discovered. He must tell her. He would pick a night and meet with her, share a meal and remember times, friends and family. He would be in Minas Tirith for awhile. He could not hold a sword and was useless to his company until he was healed. He would use this time to spend with her. He started to tell her of Amdir when she caught sight of Thengel, seated behind him.

'Thengel,' she cried. Immediately she turned towards Morwen. The smile on her face told her friend all she needed to know. Morwen pulled herself out of Elleth's arms and ran towards the cart, with Elleth running after her trying to make her slow down. The driver by this time realized he must stop or run over the group of women descending upon him. Listöwel made her way past her friends, a smile upon her face. She knew he was safe if he was with Denethor and Thengel. She cried his name as she ran forward.

Indis stopped her. 'Just a moment, dear one, let me help you up.' She had seen the small nod of Denethor's head towards the body lying next to him. She knew who it was and that the injuries were serious by the pain in her Brother’s eyes. How was she to help her friend? She stepped down from the running board and turned to Listöwel, gently taking her in her arms. 'Amdir is seriously injured, Listöwel. I will help you up to him, but you must not touch him,’ she whispered in her ear. Tears started streaming down both women's faces.

'Yes, I understand,' Listöwel whispered, scarce able to breathe and hugged her friend. Two soldiers took her arms as she reached up and helped swing her into the cart next to Amdir. She bent low, found a clear space on the burned forehead, kissed it gently, then sat down next to him and waited for the cart to continue its journey to the Houses of Healing, his hand in hers.

Indis turned towards the people in the square as the contingent of soldiers hurried up the street, Morwen and Elleth beside her. 'My people, another battle has been waged for good by the men of Gondor. The enemy is at bay again, fearful of our strength. It is now our turn to come together under our beloved Steward and stand firm. There is no need for fear or panic. Return to your homes, prepare the evening meal, and commit yourselves again to Gondor's defense.' She turned, gathered her friends and followed the entourage. Thengel looked back at her in amaze.


'There are three places that greatly concern me,' Adanedhel said pointing them out to Arciryas. 'These two spots on the flesh that cover the bones of his lower shoulders and this one further down on the left side of his back. These are different burns than the rest and these will be the burns that will kill him, if we do not treat them vigorously.'

'But my Lord Healer, are not the others as bad - they blister and weep?'

'Nay, though their look is not pleasant, they are not as serious as these three places, and will heal in time. This is your first burn patient, is it not?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'I wish it were your last, but alas, the enemy appears to grow bolder each day.' He turned to Ecthelion. 'What say you to this now? Is it not time to override the Steward's Council and protect our people?'

'You speak unwisely for an old man,' Ecthelion stated, surprised at the Healer’s boldness.

'I am old - yes. I have no more purpose in life than to care for Gondor's people. I can no longer hold my tongue. Would you cause more of our people to suffer this and also death? A whole village wiped out, my Lord. The defenses in Ithilien are weak and the soldiers too few. You continue to throw lives away by your cowardice.'

Ecthelion froze. He breathed in slowly and deeply. He would have struck the healer, though his words rang bitter and true in his heart. ‘I would have you remember,’ he hissed, trying to keep from shouting, ‘your function is to care for the wounded. You are not on my Father’s Council nor are you a soldier. You do not know all that pertains to these matters. I will speak of it no more.’

‘And that has been the problem,’ Adanedhel spat out. ‘No one speaks of what must be spoken to. Not only the soldiers, the Council, nor the Steward are effected by the paths our Steward leads us on. It is the people themselves. And it will not stop in Ithilien. Are you too blind to see that? The evil will spread. Next will be Osgiliath, then Minas Tirith and the whole of Gondor. Orcs run rampant through our land and nothing is done to stop them. Remember when the Corsairs attacked Thengel’s company in Lossarnach? None of our enemies fear us. We are looked upon as weak. And I am forced to care for more and more of our people and the underandfónd bury more and more of our dead.’

‘What would you have me do?’ he whispered curtly as he pulled Adanedhel away from the bed. ‘I have no authority. I have spoken to my Father. I have placed my thoughts before the Council and I am rebuffed at every turn. Go back to your patient, which is where your responsibility lies. Leave me to my Father.’ He strode from the room.


Firieth hushed Denethor for the tenth time. 'You will sit here until I deem your wounds are fully cleaned, bandaged, and you have drunk the teas prepared for you. I have just now finished your hands. The burns on your back still need unguents poured upon them. Then they must be covered with clean bandages...'

'Please Firieth. I must to Amdir's side. At least stop your chattering, do quickly what you must, and release me!' He chafed at every word she spoke, every movement she made. He grew tired of the constant ministrations. He had been treated by Arciryas; was that not enough? He hated the Houses of Healing - always they seemed to him a prison. This time, of all times, he must be with Amdir. He knew secret ways that would take him to the room where his friend lay, but the woman seemed aware of his thoughts of escape and would not leave him alone for a moment, always using others to fetch supplies, teas and unguents.

Suddenly, tears filled his eyes. He grabbed her arm. 'Firieth, I do not know if my friend lives or is dead. I promise you, I will remain here, quietly, and endure your ministrations, but please,' with his freshly bandaged hand he turned her face towards his, ‘send one of your drudges for news, please!'


Thengel stood with the women in the little courtyard off the main door of the Houses. Morwen was seated on a marble bench near the hedge of aloe that protected this recess from the wind. The smell was soothing; she had not noticed that a small peace had descended upon her. Indis sat next to her, holding her hand. She was grateful, more than words could tell, that Thengel had not been burned too badly. Yet her heart was broken for Listöwel as she stood clinging to Elleth. Thengel had told them in glowing words of Amdir's bravery but the women were not concerned with bravery. Bravery was becoming a euphemism for death in Gondor. Now they looked for a word of hope from him, but Thengel had none to offer. He had seen Amdir's back as the healer had stripped the bandages off, one by one, had seen the look of horror in Ecthelion's eyes, and had to leave the room to empty his stomach. When he had returned, Ecthelion had motioned him out. Now he found himself here with the women, looked upon for strength and feeling weak.

‘I will go to Denethor,' he said quietly. 'The healers must be finished with him by now. We will then go to Amdir. As soon as I am able, I promise, I will return with news.' He bowed his head, gave Indis and Morwen quick hugs and strode through the main doors.

As he walked towards Denethor's room, he shook his head. How were the women of Gondor able to endure this constant contact with death? They were the brave ones, left to send their men to war, left at home to raise the children, make the bandages, and keep a measure of sanity to lead the people by their example. He knew the four women he had just left were leaders in the city, unbeknownst to themselves and others, but at times like this, when fear ran rampant through the streets, he knew these four leaned upon each other and became an example for all the women of Gondor. He had seen Indis grow from a terrified child, at last standing up to her father, to a strong woman whom others turned to for comfort and courage. He remembered the sight of her in the square and he shook his head, wonder filling him.


Denethor and Thengel stood with mouths wide watching as Ecthelion stormed out of the room. Had they heard right? Had Adanedhel not just berated their Captain-General? Denethor’s face burned with shame. How dare he? How did his father not strike the man? Then he shook his head. Was violence his only recourse when he was angry? And why was he angry? Did not a citizen of Gondor have the right to question? Did not he have the right to question? Yet he knew the obstacles that faced Ecthelion and pondered what could be done. He glanced at Amdir, quiet and unmoving on the bed. He turned to Adanedhel.

‘My Lord, you speak wrongly to my Father.’ He spoke quietly. ‘He has tried, seriously tried for years now to open Turgon’s eyes to the dangers present. The Council seems to be more afraid of war than protecting Gondor. These lords have been too long from the battlefield. Their memories cloud their judgment. They forget that all will die if this evil is left to grow. I do not know the answers, but Father needs your support now. You are his healer, chief healer for all of Gondor. If others hear you speaking thus...’

‘Well am I aware of your Father’s words, but no deeds have sprung from these words. Denethor, this cannot continue.’ He paused, ‘I am tired,’ he wiped a bloodied hand across his forehead. ‘I spoke in the heat of my grief over the villagers. I... my sister-son had family there.’

‘Adanedhel!’ Denethor cried, 'I am sorry.’

‘Nay, ‘tis I who am sorry. I will go to your Father. There is nothing more I can do for Amdir. He must fight this battle alone. I will return in one hour. Please send someone to me if his condition changes. I will be in the Steward’s Hall.’ Denethor watched the healer retreat, shoulders bowed. His heart ached. So much death, so much sorrow.


The men stood at the foot of the bed. Adanedhel had left an attendant to sit and watch over Amdir. Denethor did not understand why there had been no movement from him, no sound issuing from his lips since they had found him. What kind of death was this? The attendant moved at Denethor’s request and he sat and took his friend’s hand.

‘Amdir. It is I, Denethor. Thengel and I are here with you. Do not lose hope, my friend. We will stay and fight this battle with you. You are not alone. Amdir? Amdir, please, do not give up. Do not leave us. We have much to share yet, many adventures and battles and drinking and dancing and laughing. Why - Listöwel is waiting for you as we speak. They have started to make her gown. Is not that true, Thengel?

Thengel stepped closer to the bed. ‘Yes, Amdir. I just left the women. Your mother and Listöwel have been quite busy with the preparations for your troth taking. You have much yet to do, my friend. Please wake up.’

‘Perhaps he is waiting for his lieutenancy. Thengel, I’m sure we can do something about that after his deeds in Emyn Arnen.’ He tried to keep his voice light, the fear from it.

‘Amdir?’ he tried again and was rewarded by a stirring, a low moan. ‘Amdir!’ he bent low and put his mouth near his friend’s ear. ‘Amdir, it is I, Denethor. We are here for you.’

Another moan and the eyelids flickered in the pale face before him. He held the hand tighter, the pain in his own negated by his concern for his friend. He kissed Amdir’s brow and called his name again. At last, the eyes opened and pain flashed across them. The moan turned to a cry and Denethor wished with all his heart that he had not awakened his friend.

The attendant quickly came forward and pressed liquid to Amdir’s lips. Through his thrashing, Amdir swallowed some of the drought. Fear flickered in his eyes and Denethor forced his face in front of him.

‘Amdir, you are all right. You have been injured, but you are all right. Drink what the healer is giving you. It will help ease the pain.’

Amdir’s eyes did not convey recognition and Denethor took his friend’s face into his hands. ‘Amdir, I am here. Drink this,’ he had taken the cup from the healer, ‘It will help ease your pain. You are all right,’ he kept repeating as some of the liquid made its way into Amdir’s mouth. The fear seemed to lessen.

‘Send for Adanedhel,’ Thengel demanded and the attendant ran from the room as Thengel knelt by the bed. ‘Amdir, we are here. Do not give into despair and fear. Your friends are with you.’

There was recognition – Denethor was sure of it. The thrashing had lessened and the eyes were focusing, no longer rolling wildly. Once again Denethor gave him the cup and Amdir drank of it, slowly. His eyes were wide now, but clear.

‘Do not speak, my friend. Lie still and rest. We will not leave you.’ Amdir’s eyes closed, then opened and a smile, small, touched his face. The eyes closed again and the breathing became slower, quieter. Denethor sat back, relief flooding his entire body. He turned towards Thengel. Through tears, both men smiled.
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IX.

'How do I say this without you thinking me mad?’ he said to the still figure on the bed. ‘How do I say this and retain your friendship, your love. You will hear it and only hear the words - not what my heart is speaking, but I must say it, if only in the hope that one meaning will seep through the words, the hurt.'

He had begun to weep openly. 'Amdir, my friend, my brother. You must not die. You must not. Gondor has need of you, of your courage, your goodness, if only to tame me, to keep me in check, my pride, my stubbornness, my anger. You know of what I speak. Ever have you been the gentling agent in this mass that sits here before you. I ask not for myself, that you live, but for Gondor, for it is my fate that I will one day rule Gondor as her Steward. I see things before me that terrify me. Things that I will do if you are not with me.'

He could hardly speak for the sobs that wracked his body. 'If all else fails, I will fail. I can see it, Amdir, in my mind's eye.' Fear constricted his throat. He found it painful to continue speaking, but he pushed through the pain. 'I fear Isildur's Bain.' There! He had said it. 'Is it real? Is it in the hands of our enemies; is it as terrible a weapon as I imagine it? Will Gondor fall because of it?'

He wet his lips. 'There is a presence in Mordor, I can feel it. It is thoroughly evil. It will destroy Gondor and I know of no way to stop it. Yet, left unhindered as it now is, it will only grow and feed on us. And it feeds on my fears. Amdir, I want desperately to have you live for me, for our friendship, for our love. But it has gone beyond that now. You are Gondor's hope - not I. I will be the one who sits on the Steward's Chair, but you will be the one behind me, guiding me, controlling me, softening what I do so that I will rule in wisdom, not in frailty. I know my faults. I know they are many and I will fail without you. Amdir, you must not die.' He buried his head in the blankets that covered his friend, sobbing uncontrollably, fatigue and fear overcoming him, until sleep took him.


Ecthelion sat alone in his study. The words of the Healer burnt him. His face was flushed though he had laved it as soon as he had come into the room. I am at a loss, he thought. I have tried every conceivable approach to change Turgon’s mind. Yet all for naught. Our defenses are useless; our men die upon the battlefield; our people suffer daily. None of this has changed his mind. He seems to live in a dream world. And his counselors with him. I have just reprimanded Húrin for his disobedience. Disobedience, no matter by what disguise or name I would use, would still be disobedience. But I must to do something. Mordor – there is now an evil presence there. Denethor had told him such and he knew the gift that Denethor had been given – some sense of events unknown to other men, some sense of the future. How am I to defend Gondor while not Steward? And now my men look askance at me, those in authority distrust me, and I sit, weak and incapable of doing what must be done.

Indis had quietly entered the room. ‘My Lord,’ she said, ‘is there ought I can do to help? I notice you are disquiet.’

He stood and walked towards her. Fiercely he took her into his arms and hugged her. ‘I am most in need of your comfort, your support.’ A chill ran through her. ‘Nay, Denethor is healing. I have heard no news of Amdir as of this morning. It is Turgon who causes me this pain. Well you know his state of mind. You have become my helper, my right hand in the affairs of Gondor, unbeknownst to others, and I have need of your counsel. I believe the time has come for drastic measures, measures which some would say were treasonable. Yet, where Gondor’s weal is involved, I must consider all alternatives. I will call my Captains to me. We will meet in secret. But where? Osgiliath.’ He gave her no opportunity for comment. ‘Will you come with me and act as servant, listening to all that is spoken of?’

‘Of course, my Lord. Will you send missives today? When do you propose this meeting? I would spend some time with Denethor before we leave, if that is possible? As it concerns him, will Denethor be one of those commanded to attend? He is only a lieutenant, but he is your heir.’


Firieth heard the cries of the Steward's Heir and ran to find the Healer. Adanedhel knocked gently on the door. When there was no answer, he pushed it open and found Denethor slumped over the foot of the bed. At last he sleeps, he thought, at last. He moved towards Amdir and noted the pale, glossy skin, the shallow breathing. His forehead was hot to the touch. He understood why Denethor had cried out. Amdir was failing. It had been four days since the company had returned from Ithilien. Adanedhel had seen signs of recovery and been heartened by them. Now, all seemed lost. He sent for Arciryas and unguents, teas and fresh bandages. And Thengel. He had been sleeping in a room nearby and was with him in an instant.

'Thengel, help me move Denethor - but gently. I do not want him to wake. If I am correct, this is the first time he has slept since your return.'

'Aye,' Thengel shook his head. 'I have never seen anyone with such will. He would not leave Amdir's side.'

'We will place him on this cot. Then you must help me with Amdir. Fever has taken his body. We have a new enemy to fight, besides the burns.'

Quickly and quietly the two men undid Amdir's bandages. The sight of the ruined back once again made Thengel ill. 'Be strong, Captain! I have need of you. Breath through your mouth. That will help. You cannot tell, but the burns are indeed healing. One of the three most severe has changed for the better. I had truly hoped we were well on the path to recovery. '

Seeing his men injured was difficult, painful for Thengel, but to see his friend like this took everything out of him. Flashes of memories of other warriors brought low by the evil that surrounded Gondor caused him to lower his head in grief. He marveled at Adanedhel and said so aloud.

'Nay, my Lord, I do nothing special. I have a talent for healing and must use it, just as you have a talent for leading men. You would not be happy doing anything else, as I would not.' The gentle words of the Healer, Thengel discovered, helped give him the strength to continue aiding him. Arciryas had come into the room and moved swiftly towards the unguents set by Firieth on the sideboard, mixing them with honey, dissolving herbs in hot water, and preparing a tea. All the while, Adanedhel spoke of bravery and duty and men. He had long ago discovered that words could also be used for healing and some sense told him Thengel needed healing at this moment. As soon as the last bandage was removed, Arciryas scooped the unguent and lavished it upon the burns.

'There is fever,' Thengel heard the Healer tell Arciryas and noted the grave looks that passed between them. 'It is time for harsher measures.’

Arciryas nodded and left the room. He soon returned with drudges carrying a large tub. Others followed carrying buckets of water. The tub was placed in the center of the room and filled with the water and Thengel wondered what the old man was doing. Next, buckets of ice from the ice chests in the kitchen were brought in and dumped into the water. The drudges left. Adanedhel wrapped a sheet of cloth around Amdir and he and Arciryas started to lift him from the bed. Thengel quickly stepped in to help, but, as they started to lower Amdir into the tub, he cried out in concern.

'Hush!' Adanedhel whispered. 'The fever will kill him. We must needs stop it. This will reduce the fever quickly. It is a harsh treatment, for other risks become involved, but it must be done.'

It seemed only a moment that they left Amdir in the frigid water, and then quickly they stripped the wet cloth off him, and wrapped him in a blanket made of soft fleece. They laid him in the bed and Adanedhel felt his forehead.

'A little cooler,' he said with satisfaction. 'We will wait a quarter hour. If the fever rises, we will do the same again. If not, there is possibility for recovery.'

Arciryas took the tea he had prepared, checked to ensure it was cool, and sat with Amdir, gently forcing drops into the cracked lips. The silence in the room was oppressive – Denethor, making no sound in a sleep of exhaustion and Amdir, making no sound, his breath so shallow none could hear it. The vigil continued.


‘If we are not allowed to visit, at least they must tell us what is happening,’ Elleth hissed between clenched teeth. ‘I will go mad with this silence.’

Listöwel looked at her in amaze. None of the women had been told of the progress of Amdir. Twice Thengel had come and spoken with them, saying all would be well, but there was an undercurrent in his speech that did not assuage their fears. They were gathered in Morwen’s residence, trying to sew, trying to uplift each other, but as the days passed, fear gripped them. Denethor was well on the way to recovery, according to Thengel, but the Healer had forbidden them to visit either men. Their only contact was through Thengel and his guarded tongue did them no good.

‘Where is Indis?’ Morwen asked. ‘I have not seen her since we broke fast this morning. She could go to her father and demand that we be allowed to visit the Houses of Healing. I was under the impression that we were to help in the care of our men?’ Her embroidery sat in her lap, untouched for the last hour.

‘She was going to Ecthelion. She said she would plead our case before him, but she has not returned,’ Elleth said. ‘If he had not allowed her an audience, she would have returned by now. Her absence gives me hope.’

‘She has changed this last year. Have you not noticed? She seems stronger and yet more distant, as if she knows things she will not share with us,’ Morwen whispered. ‘I miss our times of laughter and ... silliness. She does not laugh as often nor as warmly as was her wont. What do you suppose has happened, Elleth?’

‘She spends more time with Ecthelion than she used to. I do not think she is any longer taking care of the physical work as Lady of Gondor, but more she spends her time with him. I find it strange. He will not give his time to Denethor, yet he will to Indis.’

‘That is because she is a strong and wise woman and besides, Denethor is off with his company. He has other duties that take him away from Minas Tirith. There is no opportunity for him to spend time with Ecthelion,’ Morwen stated.

‘If Ecthelion wished it, Denethor would be stationed here in the City learning what he must as future Steward. Has there been some disagreement between the two?’ Elleth asked.

‘I think that is not our concern,’ Morwen said flatly, then smiled. ‘The plotting of the Steward’s family are legend. Has been for eons. There is nothing we can do, dear friend, to... What are you doing?’ she asked, her eyes wide as Listöwel took up Thengel’s practice sword.

‘It is heavy, heavier than I thought,’ she giggled nervously. ‘Do you honestly think, if the battle comes to Minas Tirith, that we will be allowed to stay?’

Silence greeted her. Morwen and Elleth looked at each other. Indis had come in and they rushed to her side.

‘Nay, sisters. I want to hear further of what Listöwel is asking.’

Listöwel flushed. ‘Do you seriously believe that I will leave Amdir?’ She looked pointedly at Indis, a challenge in her eyes. ‘If he lives,’ she faltered.

‘He lives,’ Indis said, ‘though the battle being waged is deadly. His friends are at his side. So – you would let us leave Minas Tirith and you would stay?’

‘I would not stop you and I would stay, but I would stay with a sword in my hand. I have discovered a secret, Morwen,’ she looked hard at her friend, ‘Your maidservant is from Rohan and knows how to wield a sword. One word from you and she will teach me. What say you?’

Morwen’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘Yes, she is from Rohan, a sister of one of Thengel’s friends, but I know nothing of her training.’

‘She said she was trained as a shieldmaiden. What is that?’

Morwen blanched. ‘It is a name for a woman who has renounced relations with men to become a warrior for her people. Shieldmaidens are specially trained in the art of self-defense and war.’ A gleam shone in Morwen’s eye. ‘If only I were not with child...’

‘Morwen!’ Elleth cried. ‘How can you say such a thing?’

‘Because I can see it in your eyes. You are all lusting after such training. Therefore, I will be sent from Gondor with the other useless women and children and you will stay and fight for Gondor.’


At last, Adanedhel could contain his anger no longer. 'Why does not Ecthelion give Denethor some task to keep him busy. I have told him of Denethor's recovery. Light duty would not harm him. But this vigil is killing his spirit. He needs to be elsewhere for a part of the day. Yes, his mind will be here, but activity is needed - some surcease from the fear that is tormenting him. I did not know the two were so close - almost as brothers.'

Thengel looked up in surprise. He had almost been asleep himself in the quiet of the room. 'Aye, they have been like brothers for a long time. And they have fought together, even as young as they are, and seen friends die on the battlefield. But this was a different kind of battle. It had already been waged and lost by the time our company arrived.'

He thought of the babes and children's bodies strewn upon the ground, the half-eaten... No, he pushed the memory from his mind and started pacing the floor. 'These two are hardened soldiers, even at their young age. They have battled the enemy for many a year. And yet, any hardened soldier would need healing from the memory of the sights we saw that day. You are correct, Adanedhel. Denethor needs to be doing something to take his mind off that carnage and the desperate illness that now assails his friend. I will speak with Ecthelion himself. But not until Amdir passes this crisis.'

'That might be quite some time. Come,' Adanedhel sighed, 'we must needs try the remedy again. The fever returns.'
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X.

'According to Adanedhel, you will be fit and able to join the company shortly. You must be tired of the honeysuckle mist. Granted, it smells lovely, but to have to breath it every day to clear the lungs? Pure torture. I myself was very glad when that part of my treatment was done with.' Denethor smiled as Amdir groaned at the thought. 'Thengel and I have become tired of waiting for you to join us. We have missed you. I believe you linger here in the Houses to be nearer to Listöwel.' Denethor shook his head. 'I do not understand how being with her could possibly cause such a rapid recovery. Is it perhaps the thought of your troth taking?'

Amdir blushed furiously. 'She comes only once a day…'

'And stays all day. Thengel and I never have time alone with you anymore. What you speak of during such long visits, I cannot imagine.'

Amdir's blush turned a brighter red. 'Just things. Plans. Hopes and dreams. Just things.'

Denethor walked towards the window. He did not understand this whole process. Women were meant to take care of the home, the children, the affairs of their men while they were away at war. Or if called to service, then work in the Houses of Healing, or the kitchens, or the shops. What was there to speak of? And yet many a night he had seen Thengel and Morwen sitting by the parapet in deep conversation. Now Amdir and Listöwel did the same thing in the gardens adjacent to the Houses. It made him nervous. He had his friends to share with, his sister, when she had a moment. Why would he want to share with anyone else?

'How are your hands?' Amdir asked, mistaking the uncertainty in his friend's face.

'I am frustrated! I still have trouble grasping my sword. Arciryas says the strength will return in time.' He shook his head. 'I do the exercises every day, yet the hand seems slow to heal. My left one has no difficulty holding the shield, which I should be grateful for. The fire caused more damage than I thought.'

'You have had too many brushes with fire, my friend. I am starting to think fire is Denethor's Bane,' Amdir laughed as he gently hit Denethor's arm.

'Nay, it is not,' Denethor snarled. 'Twice now, it has tried to engulf me and twice now I have won over it. I will not die in fire.' Again his thoughts flew to Curunír's words the last time they had met.

Immediately, Amdir regretted his words. 'What causes you to such anger over such a little jest, my friend?'

Had he never told Amdir of that meeting? The skin pr ickled on his arms. He tried to quell the fear and nausea that assailed his stomach. It was – what? Only a year ago. When Amdir and Thengel were in Dol Amroth. The same year Amdir had met Listöwel. That is why he had never discussed it with his friend. Amdir had returned from Dol Amroth a changed man. All he talked of was this vision of charm that he had met. How he wanted her to be his forever. Denethor had given up trying to talk with him about anything that mattered.

To Amdir's credit, Denethor himself had been caught up in trying to find Henneth Annûn at the time. It had been early spring; he had returned from Ithilien. He had returned to the City very much ashamed. Húrin had surprised him in the forest and Denethor was still smarting from the chastisement in front of Osgiliath’s battalion. He needed to find the old manuscripts; he needed more definite direction as to where the cave lay. He had gone to the Great Library, the first time since Thengel's troth pledging. He had heard no word that the wizard was in Gondor, so he had steeled himself and gone, for great was his sense of urgency. He found the manuscripts almost immediately and should have brought them with him to his room, but he had been fascinated by the very first passage he read and had sat down oblivious to everything around him.

'My Lord Denether,' the whispered voice caused Denethor to jump from his chair and face the wizard. 'You are studying late tonight.' Denethor looked at the candles; they had burnt down almost to their ends. He started gathering up the material around him and tried to head for the door. The wizard stood in front of him – Denethor could not recall him moving. 'I understand you have been allowed to run free through the fields of Ithilien?' His voice dripped with scorn. 'What have you found there, my friend?'

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Finally he was able to squeak out, 'I found nothing but herbs and soldiers.'

'Ah, but that is not what you went looking for, was it?' The wizard moved towards him. 'You were looking for things that do not concern you. There is another who is close to becoming Lord of Ithilien; One whom you would do well not to cross. I would warn you to stay away, but you are yet headstrong and proud. That pride will cause you great sorrow in the future. It might even cause your death?' He paused, turned and moved away. After a moment, he turned back towards Denethor. He held out his hand and there was a ball in it, round and obsidian black, yet beautiful, dark and baffling. It seemed to shimmer as if it had a life of its own. Denethor felt strangely called to it. 'Perhaps you should be looking for other things. Tools that will help you know what people refuse to tell you. You might even be able to see into their hearts.'

'I see just fine now,' Denethor was able to blurt out.

'Yes, and so you do. I have noted the gifts of Númenor that have been given to you. You might consider developing them further, just as you have developed your military skills. There are things available from the ancient ones that are your right as future Steward to use.'

'Is that... Is that a palantir?' Denethor asked in amaze. Fear was gone and intense curiosity filled him.

The globe vanished. 'I know not of what you speak, my Lord,' Curunír smiled.

Denethor suddenly felt weak. He knew he had been tricked. 'You see much, Wizard,' he snarled and was surprised at his tone. 'What do you know of me? Of my fate?'

The wizard laughed, loud and long. 'What is your fate? I see fire and ash and soldiers with flames mirrored in their helms. I see a man lying on a byre with a dead black stone in his hands, flames licking those hands, that stone. I see despair and death.'

'Denethor?' Amdir asked for the third time. 'Are you well?'

Denethor smiled bleakly, rubbing the sweat from his forehead. At least after this last encounter, he had not hidden under his bed! 'Of course I am well. It is just... I do not like to think about that fire.'


However the rest of Minas Tirith might have felt, there was one who was terrified. And that one was Morwen of Lossarnach. When first she suspected, she went to Adanedhel and tried to explain her fears to him. He waved them aside, telling her she was strong and young and built to bear children. She next turned to Indis, but Indis was totally taken in the affairs of state – Ecthelion leaned more and more upon her for counsel.

She was afraid to go to Thengel. She remembered his white face as he stood beside her during the long wait for Hild’s birth. Besides, there was no use in speaking with Thengel. He and Denethor spent most of their time in the Houses of Healing with Amdir, or planning which rooms to move the ever-increasing family into, what toys needed to be made. Morwen felt miserable, frightened and alone.

As she sat in the garden of the Houses, Morwen came to her. She was startled. She had not seen Denethor’s older sister for some months. When she had, the woman had quietly glided past with only a nod of her head. Thengel had told her that Morwen spent all of her time caring for the old Steward.

‘My Lady,’ Denethor’s sister started to speak. ‘Forgive me. You do not look well. Is there ought I may do for you?’

Morwen looked at the kind face and burst into tears. ‘I am frightened, my Lady Morwen. I...’

‘Please, call me Wen, it is the name my brother uses when speaking to me and I hold its sound tenderly in my heart. If we are going to share as friends, we should address each other as such. Now - what frightens you, Morwen?’

The tone of the voice, the kind hand gently laid upon hers, all lent strength to the words of friendship and Morwen found herself pouring out her heart, her fears, her foibles to the calm woman beside her. ‘I feel so very foolish. I am no longer a child, but I would cower under my covers if I might. Mayhap if life had moved in a different path, I would not now be so fearful. To lose my child at the Crossings broke my heart. And the pain... I could barely stand it. Then Hild was not an easy child to birth. The pain and fear of her coming are still branded into my mind and my stomach. I do not want to go through that again. I have spoken with Adanedhel and he bids me be quiet. As if I am a wayward child.’ She wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I feel like a wayward child. Lost and alone. Forgive me, My... Wen, I am whining. I am wife to the Horse Captain who is confidant to the Steward’s Heir. How do I learn courage? How do I learn patience?’

Wen moved closer to her. ‘You are most courageous, my dear Morwen. Everyday you take up the challenge of living in Gondor, when you could have stayed in Lossarnach with the green fields all about you and peace and soft rains and joy. Yet, you follow your Lord and live in this City – a City some love with a passion, but a City nonetheless, dirty, smelly, noisy, with untended gardens and abandoned homes looking out at us. You do it for love of your Lord. You will birth this child in the same way. Do not be ashamed of these feelings. It is good to share them – bring them out into the open where we may dispel them. Adanedhel is old and has forgotten the ways of women. He is now ever consumed with tending battle wounds. His duties have changed from physician to surgeon. The women of Gondor rarely give birth. Those in the lower halls use midwives and those in these halls... Do you not notice that it is only your babe that runs through the halls of the Citadel? Gondor is failing. Her men look to creating statues in remembrance of themselves before they have even passed beyond; they think not of creating children. The women are left to their own devices.’ Her face turned hard as she spoke. ‘It is now the custom of the men of Gondor to wait until they are well into their prime before they even consider taking a wife. By that time, the women are weak and spent and have lost all hope. Nay, my sweet Lady, you are most courageous. I am proud to know you.’

Morwen burst into tears. ‘You are too kind. You know not what you speak of. I am...’

‘You are the beloved of the next King of Rohan!’ Wen chided her. ‘You will remember Gondor and make certain that Rohan and Gondor are always joined in friendship and fealty.’

‘Yes, My Lady, my friend. I will remember your words and your kindness and the kindness that we have ever felt here in Minas Tirith. Thengel will not leave Gondor, even when his father passes beyond. His love and loyalty to Denethor run deep in his heart. So you will not be rid of me soon, Wen.’ She smiled. ‘And for that I am grateful.’

She leaned her head against Wen’s shoulder and sighed. ‘Thank you. I am no longer afraid. What were you doing here in the Houses of Healing? I have not seen you here before.’

‘My grandfather, Turin, has a slight chill and I had come for a remedy. Now, I see I had other reasons for coming. I am pleased that I was here at this moment. The Valar protect us in our needs.’

Morwen sighed and closed her eyes. Gently, Wen kissed her forehead as the dark haired woman fell into sleep. ‘Tears often cause fatigue. I must speak with Arciryas. He will be able to help her.’


'Three months and still the sword feels foreign in my hand. My knitting needles fit better.'

'Ah, perhaps that is our problem, Listöwel. Perhaps we should go to the armourer and request swords made that fit us?' Elleth wondered.

'If we go to the armourer, questions will be asked. And how do we respond? Well... I need a sword for slicing the turkey. I need a sword for cutting my thread. I need a sword...'

'Be still,' Morwen laughed. 'Someone will hear our giggles and inquire as to why.'

'We have giggled so much this past month, ever since Amdir started to recover, that I doubt anyone has any questions left for us. And it has been most good to laugh, has it not?' Elleth asked. 'By the way, where is Indis? Did not she say would meet us here at this hour?'

'She did and she is not here, which means she is probably with Ecthelion – again,' Morwen sighed. 'I miss her. Have I said that before?'

'Yes, you have. But I wonder where our Shieldmaiden is? I am ready to begin practice. We have such little time for this. Morwen, should you really be lifting that sword in your condition?'

'I spoke with Arciryas,' she blushed. None had known she had gone to him, pushed towards him by Wen and he had helped her. Helped mitigate her fear. She could not share this with her friends; they thought her strong. ‘He said he will advice me as to when I should stop doing this.’

‘You told him?’ Listöwel almost shrieked in alarm.

‘Of course I told him. Did you think I would enter upon such an undertaking, something that might harm my child, without counsel?’

Eledhwen strolled into the courtyard, her sword swinging back and forth in front of her. Slowly at first, and then faster, and the women gaped.

'I believe I have been lax in your training. You still hold your swords like women,' the Shieldmaiden sneered. 'And where is your erstwhile Captain. Does she think she is ready for what lies ahead?'
top

XI.

She was delirious with joy. Arciryas had watched over her like a pelican with her brood; Morwen felt well and rested and calm. This birth would be different; she felt it. She had given up training a week ago, but the sinews in her arms and legs felt strong and ready for any battle. She would still train with her sister-friends, but without sword. Arciryas had been adamant; Morwen had been respectful, and they had come to an understanding. She would obey his wishes and not use the sword, but he would allow her to continue the less strenuous fighting exercises that Eledhwen was teaching them. She would dearly miss the feel of the sword in her hand, but she would at least be able to hear the clashing of sword upon sword as Elleth, Indis and Listöwel battled each other. A smile lit her already luminous face as she thought of Thengel. She did not know what he would think. Nay, she knew. He would be angry - and concerned. How could she train thusly and carrying a child? She giggled guiltily at the thought. How wonderful it had been for her to pick up the sword. Eledhwen had said that she had a gift for it. She knew not if it was gift or no, but she relished every aspect of the training. It had been difficult, at first, for the women to train in secret. Thengel's company was still recovering from the sortie to Emyn Arnen and so, left the City rarely. Thankfully, Morwen and the others used the excuse of wedding preparations to cover their long absences. Indis had secured an old chamber in the very depths of the Citadel for their practice. None ever came so deep of late.

Morwen giggled as she raced towards the Citadel. Gondor's weal was not the only matter on Indis' mind these days. She did a little leap of joy as she remembered coming upon them unawares in the garden outside the Houses of Healing. Arciryas must have forgotten her appointment with him for there he sat, holding Indis' hand and speaking quietly to her. Indis had dismissed Morwen's queries with a wave of her hand, but Morwen had seen the light in her eyes, the flush of her cheek, and heard the faltering speech of Arciryas as she greeted them. She had told no one, for her friend's privacy was most important to her, but she wanted to shout it to the whole of Middle Earth. No – she wanted to share it with her friend, this special time, but, until Indis was ready, she would remain quiet, hoping her friend would one day trust her and come to her. A small sigh, half happy, half sad, escaped her lips.


‘We will meet at ‘The Three Fishermen’ at the setting of the sun. I will bring Amdir with me. I will feign a sadness, and as ever, he will suggest that we go and I will go – reluctantly.’ Denethor laughed. ‘What a night this will be. But remember,’ he turned serious for a moment, ‘we may be late. Amdir still does not have his full strength back. I will have to walk at his pace.’

Thengel smiled. ‘But he is healing well. I could not deny him by putting off his troth pledge any longer.’

‘Have we orders yet?’ Denethor asked. ‘It has been six months since we left Ithilien unguarded. My father shares none of his plans with me,’ he said bitterly, ‘mayhap he has said something to you?’

‘Nay, he has not.’ Thengel sat next to his friend and laid a hand on Denethor’s knee. ‘I understand your frustration for I myself feel it. It would have been easy enough for Inlach’s men to be stationed at Henneth Annûn or at least sent to swell the ranks in Cair Andros. He was not happy when we brought Findegon’s Rangers with us, yet, now he waits. Is Turgon still the problem?’

‘I have not seen the Steward in months, but I do not believe my father goes to him any longer. I think Turgon is Steward in name only.’ He stood up, strode back and forth, gripping the pommel of his sword in anger.

Thengel stood up and advanced upon him, clutching his arm and forcing him to stop and look at him. ‘You are still young, my friend. Do not take this to heart nor as a sign of disrespect. Your father loves you and values your counsel.’

‘Hah!’ Denethor laughed bitterly. ‘Little do you know.’ He sat again; his shoulders slumped. ‘I feel as if I am trapped on a child’s seesaw. One moment he listens, even seems to want my views, and then he changes and keeps me away, turns to ice! I do not understand any of this.’

‘That is not all that is causing you distress, my friend. What else is there?’ He sat down again next to Denethor.

Denethor took in a deep, slow breath. ‘It is the ceremony.’

‘What ceremony?’

‘The ceremony! My coming of age. It is in two years time.’ He stopped. ‘The only ceremony he has EVER held was the giving of the Horn at my seventh year. I want this ceremony. I need this ceremony. Every Steward has held it since the line of the Steward’s began. And the Kings of Númenor before that held it with their sons. I fear that he will again disregard tradition. But more than that, this ceremony is the most important, more so than even the conferring of the Stewardship, for it signifies the heir. With this ceremony, I will receive my final sword; I will receive the Horn of Gondor; I will receive instruction into the ways of Gondor and the secrets of Númenor. Without it, I am nothing.’

‘Feign sadness!’ Thengel laughed warmly. ‘You do not need to feign it; it fairly leaks from you!’

Denethor looked up in surprise. ‘Verily, you speak the truth. I... I am sorry.’

‘Nay, friend, I am glad you shared this with me. Would you tell me more of this ceremony? Why is it so crucial?’

‘It started when my people first came to this land as fugitives. All we loved and cherished had been lost. The very land even, disappeared from under our feet. If Elendil had not been aware of what Ar-Pharazôn’s sailing westward meant, if he had not prepared the fleet, Gondor would not be as you see it now and only a few Númenóreans would still live in this land. The rest would all be at the bottom of the sea.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘The Valar had gifted us with the island of Westernesse with one restriction – we must never sail to the Undying Lands. My people lived there – free from fear, protected, and happy. But the Dark Lord was brought, as prisoner, to our land. Slowly he twisted the mind of the kings and pride engulfed them. Then the King, spurred on by the Dark Lord, took the fleet westward and broke the Ban. As Ar-Pharazôn’s fleet headed west, Elendil boarded ships on the easternmost side of the island and waited. After more than thirty days, the mountain exploded, the wind roared, the waves grew to great heights – higher than mountains – and all in our boats were afraid. Would Ulmo himself come against us? Those who looked behind saw unspeakable horror. Our homeland, our cherished island, sank before our very eyes and was lost forever. Ever eastward our little fleet was thrown, struggling against the wrath of the Valar.’ Denethor started to sob.

Thengel sat – stunned. ‘You speak as if you yourself were there!’

‘Nay, I was not,’ Denethor took a shuddering breath. ‘I have read many accounts of that time, written in pain and sorrow and tears. The message has been branded, white-hot, upon my heart. The saddest time in our history – though I fear worse is yet to come. Will we again lose our adopted homeland? The evil that encompasses us seems of the same ilk as that which assailed Númenor. Do you not see why, do you not understand the terror I feel from the east?’

They sat together – silent. At last, Denethor shook his head. ‘Tis a sad subject to be telling on such a momentous day.’

‘But you have told me naught of the ceremony,’ Thengel said.

‘Ah yes. When my people landed, they were disconsolate. But Elendil was resolute. ‘We will not lose our memories. Númenor will live in our hearts.’ He made it law that the King, when his heir was of age, would take him to a sacred place and there speak of Númenor, the duties of the King, and many other secret things. At this time, the keys to the Treasury, the Great Library, and other places that I do not yet know of, were given to him. Before King Eärnur left for Mordor to foolishly answer the Dark Lord’s challenge, he took the Steward, Mardil Voronwë, my ancestor, to the sacred place, gave him the keys, told him the secrets and rode away, nevermore to return. The Stewards took up the tradition.’ He looked at Thengel. ‘Perhaps Ecthelion believes the King will return? Perhaps that is why there is no mention of the ceremony? There would be no need, if the King returns? Perhaps he has some foresight in this. I do not know.’

‘My friend,’ Thengel said, ‘Why distress yourself over this? There is still time. Your father knows the importance of the ceremony. He will not break this tradition, of that I am sure.’

‘Then your surety will be mine! Let us go. I promised Amdir I would visit this morning. Listöwel is busy with the final preparations for the troth pledge.’

‘Nay, I will leave you two alone. I have errands for tonight that must be completed.’ And then Thengel, sensing the need for tradition, good-bye’d Denethor with the Gondorian hand to chest. Denethor smiled, returned it and walked away, his heart lightened.


Indis finally decided that preparation for war was needed. As she and Ecthelion poured over maps and missives from Gondor and beyond, she realized the depths of evil in their land. She glimpsed a small portion of what Denethor had spoken of all these long years, and she was finally feeling the horror that she perceived in his eyes when he left himself unguarded. Her poor brother. The gift of foresight that was growing in him was a bitter gift indeed, and coupled with his years of knowledge of their past gleaned from his many hours studying the books from the Great Library, perhaps were too much for him. She pushed that thought away, for there was naught she could do to help him. As Listöwel had said, she too did not mean to be sent off with the women and children, if the time ever came to defend Minas Tirith. She would stay and fight next to her father, her Lord. She was not as adept at the sword as Morwen was, but she was learning nonetheless. And, Arciryas would be staying and in the middle of the fray. She would want to be at his side. She sighed.


'There will be no training today,' Listöwel wailed. 'Indis has an appointment; she cannot break it, and Elleth says we must sew. The troth pledge is too close.'

Morwen laughed. 'Then come, sister-friend, and we will sew and sing and enjoy this day.'

'What has made you so happy?' Listöwel demanded and then blushed. 'Ah, the babe. Have you felt it?'

'Yes, oh yes! Many times now, Listöwel,’ Her face glowed. 'I am so happ